Jacked (75 page)

It felt good to laugh.

Cap’s cell rang. He checked the screen. “Excuse me. I’ve got to take this.” He slipped past Marcus, almost knocking him into my bed.

I watched Sidel shake my dad’s hand. I hoped his gesture was sincere.

“Hey,” Sidel said to me, “how you feeling?”

“In one piece.”

He chuckled. “I’m glad to see it.” He offered his hand.

I shook it.

No words were necessary. Shit between us would get put behind us—in time. Felt good to take that first step.

“That was the crime lab,” Cap said, pocketing his cell. “They’re still running the recovered weapon and casings through Ballistics, but their preliminary findings indicate that the gun the suspect fired was the same weapon used in the shootings at Erin’s house.”

My gut sank. “You serious?”

Cap nodded.

Marcus drew in an incensed breath.

“Kara was the one…?” I wanted to puke. It was hard to fucking breathe.

Cap crossed his arms across his chest and glanced over at Erin quickly, minding his volume. “Looks that way. We won’t know for sure until we see the final report but the score marks on the casings are identical.”

I rolled away from my woman and pegged them both with my gaze. “This shit stays between us for now. I don’t want her hearing that from Cherise. You get me?”

Marcus nodded.

“I need her to heal up. I got enough shit on my plate.”

Marcus gave me a reassuring pat. “No worries, bro.”

As if Erin didn’t already have enough reasons to leave me.

VISITING HOURS ENDED
at nine, which meant it was closer to eleven when our parents finally left. It was hard to stay awake; the pain meds they pumped into me made sleep so very desirable.

Erin was at least able to get out of bed and use the bathroom. I was bedridden and pissing in a fucking plastic bottle.

“Here, let me help,” Erin said, shuffling across the floor to take my latest piss away.

“Guess the honeymoon is over,” I muttered.

She rolled her eyes at me and held the clear plastic up toward the light. Even as a patient she was in doctor mode, fucking monitoring my fluids.

I heard the toilet flush and running water in the sink.

Erin set the emptied bottle on the small table next to my bed. “You need anything, babe?”

I snagged her free wrist. “Yeah. You.”

Her head tilted and she smiled, finding a space on the edge of my bed to sit.

I nodded at her wrapped arm. “What happened?”

She sighed. “It was a through and through, but it nicked my subclavian artery.”

I pulled her good hand to my mouth, needing to worship the fact that she was alive. Memories painted with red pain forced their way past my weak hold, pressing onto my heart with the weight of a million regrets. My eyes turned watery; the sob I fought to restrain too powerful to be contained. Just the mere thought of what could have happened was too much to bear. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“Oh, baby. Shh,” Erin whispered. She rested her uninjured side onto my chest, leaning up to give me a kiss. “I’m here, Adam. Shh.”

I didn’t care if she saw me as weak. I was already crying like a baby. She wiped my face and kissed me again. I wrapped my fingers into her hair, holding on for dear life. “I’m so sorry, baby. So sorry.”

“Shh, it’s okay.”

I sniffed, feeling utterly helpless and desperate. “Please don’t leave me. Don’t leave me over this. I swear. I promise. I love you so much, Erin. So much.”

“I love you too. Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

“I didn’t… I swear I didn’t know she was—”

Her fingers drifted over my lips. “Please stop blaming yourself. This wasn’t your fault.”

I wished I could believe that.

“Look at me,” she ordered.

It was almost a relief to see the absolution in her piercing gaze. My hands were shaking.

“It
wasn’t
your fault. That girl was sick. Understand? She was sick, Adam.”

Yeah, but that, too, was my doing
.

“I promised you I’d never hurt you and—”

“Stop,” she said sternly. “I love you.
You
, Adam. We’ve been through so much together. So much. But we’re still standing.”

The irony wasn’t lost on either of us.

She gave me a weak nudge. “You know what I mean.”

Erin smiled
that
smile—the one laced with so much love I wasn’t sure I deserved.

My mind wandered, picturing exactly what our daughter’s smile might look like. It was so damn adorable. She tilted her head and gazed at me, conveying a thousand messages without saying a word.

I imagined our daughter would do that too, just like that… one day.

God, I love you.

I took her hand in mine. “Marry me.”

Her breath hitched ever so slightly.

“Okay,” she whispered.

I had to be sure. “Yes?”

Erin nodded, gracing me with a smile I knew I’d never be without.

“Yes,” she said.

I gently tugged her to me, sealing my question with the amazing feel of her answering lips on mine.

Mine
.

I vowed to love her for the rest of my life.

DECISIONS.

So many thoughts clouded my head; it was difficult to find focus through the clutter.

Decisions.

I stared at the television screen bolted to the wall, pondering the notion that our lives are built around an infinite amount of decisions, moment by moment, day by day.

Decisions. Decisions. Decisions.

They are born from an equally infinite amount of questions, aren’t they? Those invisible forks in the road that present themselves every twelve seconds and force us to come to a conclusion of some sort.

Should I?

Shouldn’t I?

Will it hurt me?

Will it taste good?

Will a fucking I.E.D. be hiding under rocks strategically placed where they hit the Humvee and blow my fucking legs off, forcing me into this state of pointlessness?

As Tyler had said in physical therapy this morning, “Crying ain’t going to make things grow back.” I hated that he had seen me so weak. He’d pushed me too far. I wasn’t ready for it.

The memorial card on my bedside table was a harsh reminder of the pointlessness. A two-by-three inch shot of Luke in his dress uniform. The American flag waved across the card’s surface, bleeding red and blue into the white background. His birth date in bold font followed by the date of his death.

Fucking waste.
He
should be alive
.

Some decisions are just out of our control. They happen and we are fucking powerless to do anything about it.

Like missing Lance Corporal Luke Dawson’s funeral.

I’d said goodbye to him over there while he took his last breath; I hope to hell he heard me.

Christ, do I have the strength to go on?

I don’t want to think about it anymore.

I wish I could just stop the noise.

Stop, please
.

Some days I just wanted to feel sorry for myself and wallow in my misery. It had become as natural as breathing.

Some days I was just so fucking angry, wishing everyone and everything would just fuck the fuck off.

Some days I was so drugged up and high, disappearing into the black void was a godsend.

But most days lately, like today, my level of apathy was off the charts.

From the moment I woke up in that first hospital in Germany until now, my days had been measured by watching the doorway to my room. Wondering sometimes with anticipation as to who would be the next to walk through its threshold.

A decent-looking nurse?

Well, one could dream…

A sour-faced doctor coming to give me his version of “good news”?

Sometimes in my narcotic-fueled haze I’d wish for a machete to magically appear, so good ol’ doc and I could
really
be on the same page of life. I often wondered how they’d
really
feel to be missing both of
their
fucking legs.

It was a shitty outlook, but fuck if I was able to shake it.

Some days—well, most days—I wondered why I just didn’t die out there in the field.

Would I have been better off?

I didn’t have a death wish, but damn, would dying have meant not having to relive the horrendous memories?

…the daily agony?

…hearing the screams echo through my skull?

I hate the color beige.

Hate
the fucking color.

It’s the constant reminder of dust and endless blistering heat of a Hell on Earth that will never see rest.

The vibrant green hues outside my hospital window do nothing to expel the crusted beige dirt that’s encased my soul. It’s as if it has seeped below my skin and resides with me daily. I hate the shit.

I wanted a cigarette. I knew my mom hated that I’d picked up the habit, but her constant lecturing me was a waste of air. Hell, could it be any worse than inhaling the acrid smoke of a burning Humvee that charred my lungs?

Being forced to quit cold turkey was just cruel.

I rolled away, buried deeper into my pillow, and ignored the chatter of my parents talking.

I should be social.

I know I should. Adam and Erin drove them down this weekend, and I know they’re here to help me, but I’m so lost I don’t know if it’s even possible anymore.

I used to be invincible.

Unbreakable.

Now, every time I close my fucking eyes I recall with painful clarity the images of other soldiers’ mangled, bloodied bodies.

The stench of burnt flesh and blood and melted plastic are forever seared into my sinuses. Agonizing moans and groans from the mouths of good men haunt me with every breath I take.

I can remember the deafening sounds and the weightlessness of flying through the air. Residual horrors like strikes of lightning ripple behind my eyelids. I can see flashes in the night sky and feel the searing pain before having my memories fade into the darkness.

I wanted to believe God and Country had a purpose for all of this.

I truly did.

But now, everything just seemed pointless.

I tried to concentrate on the cartoon playing on the screen, but nothing seemed capable of drowning out the noise inside my head.

Adam’s hand clamped down on my forearm, breaking my internal chatter.

I gave his hand a pat while we exchanged pathetic smiles. I knew he didn’t know what to say to me anymore. Pep talks usually just pissed one of us off.

I glanced over at his woman; she was focused on the screen of her cell. The big diamond Adam had given her recently cast a rainbow of spectral light onto the wall.

“Good to see you, bro. You doing all right?” Adam asked.

Fuck no.

“Yeah. I’m good.” Staring at Erin’s bare legs and great tits was easier than lying to his face. “Congratulations, dude. You look happy.”

Adam nodded. “I am. I hope you get there too one day.”

Yeah, right.

Not unless double amputees have suddenly become all the rage amongst twenty-somethings
.

“How’s your leg doing?” I asked, feebly trying to shift the focus.

Adam nodded, hiding most of his smile behind his casualness. “Healing up. Setting off metal detectors.”

“Well, at least one of us doesn’t need crutches anymore.”

He frowned at me. “You’ll get there. I swear. It sucks but you keep going forward. How are the new legs coming along?”

The muscle in my left thigh cramped, causing phantom pain to zing all the way down into toes that no longer existed.

“Didn’t get them yet. Maybe by the end of next week they said.”

We both watched Erin stash her phone in the pocket of her shorts and walk to the end of my bed, helping herself—as usual—to my medical chart.

And then came her narrowed focus—that intense scrutiny—followed by a few disapproving sighs. I’d been an EMT for six years, and I’d never seen a female doctor on any part of the planet as hot as her.

I glared at my brother for being so fucking lucky.
Bastard
.

“Looks like I have to have another talk with your doctor,” she muttered.